


twist the knife and bleed my aching heart

by Anonymous



Category: Megadeth, Metallica
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emetophobia, Extremely Dubious Consent, Horror, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vomiting, more tags in reader notes, murderous cannibals ? its more likely than you'd think, sorry jason :'-(, whooo boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: cold, cold, cold, cold insidedarker in the day than the dead of night
Relationships: Kirk Hammett/Dave Mustaine
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16
Collections: anonymous





	twist the knife and bleed my aching heart

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this fic depicts grievous bodily harm, mutilation, stabbing, gutfucking, coming in a wound, non-con, murder, disposal of a body, corpse desecration, and references to cannibalism. please heed the tags, if you're having second thoughts i'd recommend not proceeding.
> 
> ───
> 
> ,,,,, im sorry my dudes ,,,, this was the last halloween fic i had kickin around so !! :'-)
> 
> pls heed the tags ,,, this isn't like. super nice LMAO so. yeah
> 
> i'm gonna say this is like. early 90's kirk + dave and '86 jase
> 
> (also i promise ill like. actually write some kirk/dave this was ,,, yeah)
> 
> enjoy ??

“-and can you grab the extra gloves? Yeah, they’re in the supply cupboard-”

Jason blinks dazedly.

His head pounds, vision swimming in and out, everything warping sickeningly. He can barely see in between the seam of his eyelashes and the haze of tears, and Jason winces as there’s a sharp spike of pain between his eyes, like a knife digging through his skull.

An uncontrolled little whimper tears out of his throat.

“-shit, hurry-”

Jason feels his eyebrows scrunch in confusion. His feeling comes back gradually, like waves crashing under his skin, zipping slowly up his nerves.

There’s the rough, coarse scrape of rope against his wrists and ankles, taut against the bone, keeping him spread-eagled. Jason frowns, trying to open his jaw, before his eyes widen at the feeling of heavy canvas trapping his tongue to the bottom of his mouth, the fabric strip wrapped around his head and knotted at the base of his neck.

It stinks, like gasoline. Jason gags weakly, moaning as his stomach lurches.

The room is shrouded in darkness; he can’t see much farther than his own body, and Jason blinks hard, his vision clouded by confusion. Thin candles gutter weakly in the chandelier above his head, melted wax dripping onto the wooden surface he’s laying on.

His blood goes cold at a sudden scrape of metal.

_Oh, god._

A gloved hand grips his cheek gently.

Jason whimpers, thrashing weakly, terror crashing through him suddenly, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” someone whispers, patting his cheek. Jason sobs, tears leaking down his cheeks, straining weakly against the ropes. “Settle down, baby, else you’re not gonna like what we’re gonna have to do.”

Jason tries to beg; it all comes out as a muffled moan against the gag.

“Shut _up_ ,” someone else hisses, voice rough and low. It makes Jason’s skin crawl. “ _Christ_. Here, Kirk.”

 _Kirk. Kirk. Kirk?_ Jason’s mind latches onto this new piece of information in his terror. _Kirk? From- from-_

Jason feels his heart stutter as he catches the gleam of a knife, glittery and silvery-sharp in the candlelight, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.

“It's fine, he’ll shut up soon,” Kirk murmurs. Jason recognizes the same voice, disconnectedly smooth, almost, blending into the darkness, only the black gloves above his head visible. “'Kay, m'gonna do it.”

Jason whimpers, tugging against his restraints. Then there’s other sets of gloved hands, wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles, holding him down. Someone grabs his head, fingers pressing bruisingly into his throat, so hard he nearly chokes.

The point of the knife digs into his sternum.

Jason freezes, a sob bubbling up out of his throat.

“Stay still, baby,” Kirk whispers.

Then pain arcs through his body. Jason screams, choking against the gag, gurgling pathetically as the cold steel glides through his stomach, slicing all clean and opening him up, baring his guts. 

Blood bubbles up, all hot and wet, dripping over his hips and down in between his legs.

Jason feels his eyelashes flutter. It’s like everything’s disconnected. Like he’s not really in his body, only reminded of his physical connection to the world by the hot flashes of pain, by the indescribable _hurt._

He can feel himself snotting and drooling and crying all over the place, but everything’s going black, fuzzy at the edges, his head lolling weakly against the table.

Jason whimpers at the greedy, rough tug of someone’s hands grabbing and pulling at his guts.

There’s a sickly tear, a ghastly squelch, and Jason chokes, gasping for air as he cries, hazily watching black-gloved hands splattered with blood grip soft tissue all tight, light-pink intestines squeezed between fingers.

_His intestines._

“-shit, he’s pretty-”

“-hurry up, _fuck_ , c’mon-”

Jason moans, his breath hitching as hands roughly tug at the knots of rope around his wrists and ankles. He whimpers as he's released, skin all rubbed raw and achy. Then someone’s hands grab his hips, dragging him to the edge of the table. Jason feels his legs slump over limply, like dead weight, pain licking up his spine, before there’s a pressure against his guts, hot and wet, sliding in and out.

“ _-fuck_ , he feels nice-”

Everything has mostly fuzzed out; the only thing permeating his haze is a constant flash of pain, sharp and gut-wrenching. Jason feels as if he’s floating. It's all slow, dim, grey like cheap film over his eyes, like he's watching it all played back instead of experiencing it.

Jason gags, his stomach roiling as someone’s dick bumps into the soft little organ. He whimpers and cries at the pain; it’s incandescent, utterly unbearable, like a sharp cramp, everything winding tight.

Fingers dip into the wound. Stroke along his guts. Rub, softly, along the walls of his abdomen, caressing tender flesh.

There’s a couple scattered groans, quiet voices, all muffled like he’s underwater. Jason doesn’t even flinch at the hot splatter all over his guts, his legs. Slick, warm. 

Those greedy hands return. Tugging him to the side, slightly.

More pressure, a little lower down, someone fucking their dick in between his intestines. More moans, breathy, gaspy- _is that me?_ \- another hot splatter, fingers bruising against his tender flesh.

Sparks flash behind Jason’s eyes. 

He loses track of how many times it happens. By now he feels like a broken toy; ripped-up, shoved carelessly onto his side, his guts starting to spill out onto the table, blood and cum mixing on the wooden surface.

Jason whines, his eyes rolling back. He’s _cold_. 

His nose is bleeding, dark and thick, blood bubbling up at the corners of his mouth. Jason gags, hard, his stomach clenching, vomit spilling all watery from his mouth, stinking and sharp. Coughing, Jason moans, retching again, puke splattering messily down the side of his face, pooling under his chin.

“I- hurts- _cold_ ,” he moans thickly, forgetting the gag obscures any meaning to his words in his delirium. “Cold- ‘m _cold-_ ”

Hands grip his thighs tightly. Push him onto his back. Spread his legs open.

“-fuckin’ pretty, shit-”

“-fuck, okay. Let’s finish this-”

“-grab the knife-”

Jason whimpers, dazedly, as someone strokes his cheek lightly.

“-hang on, baby, doing _so good_ -”

Gloved hands push him up the table. Jason feels his head flop back limply, body slouched across the wood, guts squelching.

There’s a flash of bright metal. 

Jason blinks, eyelashes nearly webbed-shut with tears.

“-want his heart, wanna save that for later-”

“-eat his lungs first, maybe-”

There’s a hot, burning spike of pain, right through his forehead.

Then everything goes black.

───

“Fuck, this is a shitty grave.”

Dave laughs, slamming the trunk of the car shut. It echoes in the still of the forest, birds scattering from the trees and calling wildly to each other.

There’s dew all over the grass, the air all misty and hazy-grey.

Kirk frowns, staring at the ominously-dark grave, grass beside it thick and green. Dave grabs the shovels, tossing them beside the mound of fresh earth, dark and wet and clumped, heavy with the rich smell of decay.

“What’d you expect?” Dave says archly. “Considering the two dumbasses did it, I’m surprised it’s even deep enough.”

It’d taken James and Lars most of the morning, and it’s still shitty-done; they’ve never been into finishing the job properly. _Lazy fuckers_ , Kirk thinks, _fuckin’ Christ._

Honestly, though? He can let it go. Kirk would rather dump a body than dig a grave, anyways.

Kirk stretches out his shoulders, watching as Dave drags the bag behind him. It crinkles and rustles over the grass, smearing through all the mud. Then Kirk grabs the other end of the black bag tight, plastic slick with water.

It’s vaguely human-shaped; thick layered black garbage bags form a mannequin-like figure, duct-tape wrapped around the body’s neck and chest and binding the legs together. 

Wrinkling his nose, Kirk tugs on the bag. 

It’s starting to stink.

Kirk grits his teeth, yanking on the body, dragging it over to the hole with Dave’s help. Then they heave it in.

It hits the dirt with a muffled thump. Kirk looks down at the broken, bent mass in the hole, black plastic garbage bags shining like an oil slick. 

Admittedly? Kirk’s a little sad the kid had to bite it. He was pretty; Kirk would’ve liked to have had a little more fun with him first.

It was ridiculously easy to reel the kid in, anyways. Like a little lamb, straight to slaughter.

And he had tasted _delicious_ ; lungs and muscle and soft tissue gorgeously heavy on Kirk's tongue, blood thick and sweet like honey. 

Dave tosses him a shovel, andKirk yelps, barely managing to catch it.

Then they start filling in the hole. 

The mud splatters all over the black garbage bags. As they fill more and more, the dirt lands softly, settling slowly. Gently. Tenderly.

Kirk wonders if it's warm, six feet deep.

Poor kid.

Kirk sighs once they finish. Dave packs the dirt down on the top with the end of his shovel, tamping down the wet earth. Digging in his jacket pocket for the package of Marlboros and his lighter, Kirk sparks up, taking a tired drag as Dave puts the shovels back in the trunk of the car.

Dave comes over to lazily stand by Kirk, tucking one of his hands in the back pocket of Kirk's jeans. He grabs the cigarette, taking a couple long drags, smoking it down to the filter.

Then he tosses the butt on top of the grave.

“Kinda sad he didn't last long,” Dave says flatly. “Little twink didn't have much meat on him. Was good, though”

Kirk nods. “Yeah- yeah. Wish we could've saved a little more.”

“He was kinda pretty,” Dave murmurs listlessly. “Woulda been fun. Bet he was good at suckin' dick.”

Kirk snorts a laugh. “Shut- shut up.”

“Okay, baby,” Dave grins, all knife-sharp. There's still a bit of blood, dried up along the edge of his jaw. Kirk wants to lick it off. “You wanna go for lunch?” 

“Yeah,” Kirk grins, “Let's go to Waffle House.”

**Author's Note:**

> >:-) <3


End file.
